The Baddest Ass (Billy Lafitte #3) (15 page)

"For all the trouble, let's round it up to a nice even twenty. Won't even max your credit card. I'll go in there right now with Jean Robert, call him out, and you can watch him die right through this window here." He points into the cellblock. Lots of white guys and Indians block the view. Also, lots of her own blood and spit smeared across the glass.

"How?" she asks.

"Name it. Jean Robert can make a real mess of things."

The woman rolls onto her ass, sits up. Just what he'd hoped for. Bitch is so tunnel-visioned on revenge that she'll forget getting beat down to get it.

She says, "I want it to be slow. I want him to realize he's dying."

"Strangle his ass?"

"They've got a fire in there, don't they?"

Ri'Chess peeks over the heads of the men at the glass. He sees the smoke. Been trying to not think about that smell, especially after the cream of whatever hot dish shit. "Uh huh."

"That. Do that."

Goddamn. "You mean like he a witch or something?"

"Like my fiancé. Burn Lafitte alive. While I watch."

Ri'Chess shakes his head. Whistles. "That's…baby, that's…you cold."

"Not as cold as you think."

Ri'Chess ups and heads towards the door, waves Jean Robert along. Tells the others in the room, "She's your priority. Don't touch her or—" he nods at the big Haitian. "Got it? And see if you can find her some tissues up in here til I get back."

Guy in a knit beanie and a parka he's taken off a dead cop gives his boss a two-finger salute. "You know it."

Ri'Chess pretends like he's adjusting a suit coat. Silly, but he feels good doing it. Like he's adjusting a big-ass Windsor knot. Rolls his head on his neck. Jean Robert takes the lead and they walk out of the control room and into the cell block with all the whites and the redskins, even some of his Africans, some standing around the glass watching the woman, trying to stay the hell away from the fights that are all over the place—round the fire, on the stairs, up on the second floor, spilling into the cells. Aw, it is bee-
u
-ti-ful. Ri'Chess can't help but laugh. He looks around, finds the old man, a lifer who somehow got himself transferred after, what, four decades down in Kansas? Risking it all to start over in a new pen. Hardcore, man. Hardcore. The lifer nods and crosses his arms and takes a zig-zag stroll til he's standing beside Ri'Chess watching the men beat the unholy shit out of each other. Blood all over the floor, freezing soon as it hits the tile, shoe-rubber squeaking, smearing the blood all over, like some sort of HIV-slushie. The stink on the fire is approaching well-done, passing over into burned slap up.

Ri'Chess says, "How's your grandbabies?"

"Babies? They're high schoolers now. Only care about me when it's report time. Grandpa in prison is at least a B plus."

"You famous."

"Not the good kind." The old man coughs, clears his throat, and spits on the ground. Quiet for a few beats.

"Where's he at?"

The old man keeps staring straight ahead. "Got no friends here."

"I ain't talking about friends."

"He's not a hider. You know better."

Ri'Chess sighs. Got to play these fucking games, don't he? Same as if they still got cops with eyes on them all the time. Fuck that. This is his chance to do what needs to be done. He doesn't even telegraph it. No one's going to expect it. He balls up his fist and rams it into the lifer's throat. Old man's eyes go wide and he makes a sound like a cat getting sick. Ri'Chess is on him, fingers digging into his windpipe, driving him through the crowd of men right back to the glass of the control room. Big bug eyes. Veins pop. Ain't one of his people going to help him either, same way they didn't lift a finger to help Mr. KKK from getting his ass BBQ'd.

"You tell me he's in here, is all you got to do."

The old man's face…what is that? Not scared. Might be hurting, but that's not fear. That's goddamned
pissed
is what that is.

"He in here?"

Loosens his hold on the man just enough to let him scrape some air in. Waits for the answer.

Old man gets it together enough to croak out, "Hope they fry your ass, nig—"

Don't even let him finish it. Grabs hold again til his fingers break through the paper-thin skin. Smashes the lifer's head against the glass a few times til he hears bone break, but the glass doesn't have a mark on it. He drops the lifer on the floor and waves Jean Robert over.

Says, "More twigs for the fire."

Jean Robert scoops the man up like carrying a baby, says something like "
Sa-ll-men' tresst-ah"
or whatever. Ri'Chess never understands a word of it and it's not like Jean Robert could teach him, either.

Some of the scuffles quiet down as everyone watches the granite man walk to the fire and then ease into a crouch. He lifts the lifer's body over and out and lays him on the flames gently, not flinching or burning himself, before rising and bowing his head a moment.

Crazy voodoo bastard is full of surprises.

Ri'Chess heads to the stairs, climbs to the halfway platform between floors, and shouts over the din, "Somebody better tell me where Lafitte at right fucking now!"

And he feels it, yes he does, he just
feels
one of these poor motherfuckers is going to tell him, too.

Mrs. Hoeck is pushed along. Nothing she can do about it. They're even pushing Billy along with her. Ham is shuffling, nearly tripping trying to keep up, but she's got him and won't let him fall. Billy's got the both of them, and these…these…lost souls, yes, lost souls, are ushering them towards Lord knows where.

She barely looks up, but when she does there are eyes on her, terrible eyes, those not helping them to a hiding place, and she imagines the strong hands of demons on their cheeks, forcing the men to watch and think terrible thoughts. How can she even be sure the helpers have pure intent? Could be readying to, what is it, shiv? Or a shank? A shank for Billy so they could rape her and…don't even think it. Don't think about it. The Lord won't allow it. He can't. He just…

They're rushed up stairs and past stinking men and stinking cells, all the doors open, most a mess. Everything burnable on the bonfire. Smaller fires in many cells. Then they're at one, a sheet hanging like a curtain blocking the cell from view. They brush past it into an empty cell, a small fire in the sink, blue flames and the smell of alcohol.

"Under the bunk. Come on, get under there."

Why are they in a cell? It's the last place she wants to be. They could be locked up in here! It's not safe. No, it's not. "Wait, wait, wait—"

"No time. Shut the fuck up and get down there."

Billy's voice, calm and low in her ear. "Do it. It's fine. I promise."

He pushes on her shoulders, and she goes down on her knees, which can't take much more. But Billy keeps the pressure up. Onto her side, no telling what spit and feces and blood she might be scooting her backside against. Far against the wall, followed quickly by Ham, telling her, "I'm scared" as she shushes the boy and has him lie flat against her, arms around him hugging tightly. Billy is last, careful to not squeeze too tightly against them both.

And then Mrs. Hoeck can't see anything but Billy's back, her grandson's hair, the feet of one convict slipping out past the curtain, and then, her own cold breath. She squeezes her eyes shut and yawns. The fear, the cold, the way she's held her muscles so tight, it's all catching up to her. She needs to rest. Not a young woman anymore. And even with Billy here, the only person she can really trust, she refuses to fall asleep as long as Ham is in danger. She'll stay awake for days, weeks, if that's what it—

She must have dozed off because Billy's tapping her and in mid sentence. "—keep quiet and they'll come get us when it's clear."

"Clear for what?"

"The unfinished cellblock. That's how people can get out, but only a handful of people know how, and they use it more to bring stuff in."

"Drugs?"

"And booze and knives and better toilet paper. Candy. Thicker socks. Jewelry. Porn."

"Oh, Jesus."

"Men are men."

"Aren't there any Godly men here? Any at all?"

A long pause. Then Billy says, "The only time they show it is when someone's looking."

Ham squirms, kicks. "I don't like it. I can't see!"

Mrs. Hoeck shushes in his ear. "You have to be quiet."

"No I don't
have
to do anything. Let me go. I can't breath, Mamaw, I can't…" He starts to wheeze, but Mrs. Hoeck has heard it all before. It s a thing he does. He'll provoke kids at school, tease his sister mercilessly, and when it looks like he'll get in trouble, he fakes something. Wheezing, headache, stomach. He's somehow learned to make himself throw up.

He's making a run up to that now. She can't blame him. We each confront fear in our own way. A kid his age can't understand completely. He's done so well so far.

She tries to rock him as best she can with her back against the cold, gritty wall. "Remember the stories I told you about the Apostle Paul, about all the disciples, all they went through. This is one of those times. Jesus will protect you, but you've got to do the right thing."

He kicks her with the heel of his sneakers. "I don't feel good."

"Please, boy, please."

She feels Billy's thick arm reach back. He grips his son's leg. Says, "Don't be a pussy. Don't care how you feel. This is what you got to do to live, kid."

Ham stops kicking. "You're supposed to be like Superman. Just break through the wall. I want to go home."

Nothing.

"Your father," Mrs. Hoeck says, "is trying to be a better man."

Some rumbling from Billy, laughing without laughing. "No, that's not it. All the better men I've been around don't see it coming for them. I wish I could be like that."

Ham says, "Mamaw, I'm really going to be sick. Let me out."

But then the noise starts, like a train, far away but powerful, rolling closer.

They all stop breathing and listen. A wall of sound—shouting, running, closer.

Billy says, "That's not guards."

And then the roar explodes into the cellblock like a summer thunderstorm outside Mrs. Hoeck's home in Mobile, Alabama. Sudden, loud enough to drown out the stereo, pounding very hard on the roof and windows. Except the rain is coming for them this time.

Billy's grip on both of them tightens.

The men of this cellblock join in the shouting and it sounds as if fights are breaking out all over. The roar comes closer and closer still, the fights spreading from the ground to the second level. Mrs. Hoeck sees shadows on the curtain. A tangle of limbs. So so close. She scrunches her head down, tries to become smaller. Why do people do that? What is that instinct? It flies in the face of all logic, but then so does her faith. Always tried, always tested.

The men outside slam against the bars, the railing, sounds Mrs. Hoeck has never heard a body make before. The curtain sways. Something cracks, a man cries out something high-pitched and tortured that Mrs. Hoeck wishes she could unhear.

Oh Lord, oh Lord, see us through, please Lord.

The shadows move on, except for one, a lump, right outside. He's still breathing, like a balloon with slow leak.

"Jesus, God have mercy—"

Billy says, "Quiet. Keep it in your head."

A few more minutes of banging, shouting, all-out war. Another shadow at the curtain. This time it pulls the sheet back and steps inside. Baggy prison pants, white socks, rubber slippers. He crouches until he's on his knees, then bends over, hands in view. A thin, young, black man with a goatee and cornrowed hair.

"Well goddamn, Billy." The man's eyes flick between Billy and Mrs. Hoeck.

"Dee El. You okay?"

"Does it look like we're okay? Any of us? Shit, you hiding under a bunk with your moms."

"Mother-in-law. What do you want?"

"Old man told me where you were, said to come lead you out. But shit, I don't know."

"How do we get to E Block?"

"Downstairs. Round the other side. Don't know what they were thinking, stashing you in here."

"The old man sent us up here because he thought it was cops coming. Cops know the way into E Block. Garner does, I know."

"The old man's dead. Garner's dead, too."

"Well…okay."

"Ri'Chess did em both. He's out there. Looking for you."

Dee El holds out his hand and Billy takes it. Hauls him out from the bunk and to his feet. Billy reaches down to help Ham, then, Mrs. Hoeck. The young man shakes his head. "Shit, your kid? Got your kid up in here?"

"I need to get them out. If I can't do that, I need to keep them safe until the cavalry shows up. How long, you think?"

Dee El rubs his hand over his chin. "It's only been about, what, twenty minutes since the power went out."

"You said Ricardo's out there?"

"Hey, we're cool, you and me." He looks at Mrs. Hoeck. "Your boy here helped me out, got me working with computers. I only had a few years left to go before this, and I could've gotten a job."